A Second Chance at Life
by neomaumbra
Summary: Waking up on Vagra Two with no memory of the events that had transpired, Tasha Yar must find a way off the desolate planet to reunite with the crew of the Enterprise. Along the way, she tries to piece together the shattered clues of what happened to her there. (ONE SHOT)


Stars were not peaceful, she decided.

They were violent. Hot. Angry as lightning. Nuclear combustion and molten cores, exploding like wildfires. Lashing out against anything that drew too near. How many people looked up to the heavens at night and found peace in the stars? But, for Tasha, when she looked out at the twinkling star fields, all she saw was war.

In the small, grey guest quarters of the tiny transport vessel that had picked her up, she sat and stared at the wall and shivered. She'd showered three times already and still could not get the sensation off her skin of tar and sand. Her mouth felt dry no matter how much she drank. Her body felt dirty no matter how hard she scrubbed herself down. Some part of her kept waiting to blink and discover she was still stranded on that desolate, desert planet.

The sound of the door chime ripped her from her waking dream.

"Come," she called, more out of habit than anything else.

Into the small space entered the captain of the cargo ship. He was a small humanoid, with bumps and ridges along his forehead that travelled along his hairline before disappearing behind the base of his skull where his baggy uniform began, a worn jumpsuit that looked about as worse for wear as the rest of his ship did. Tasha was unfamiliar with his planet of origin. She'd asked him once already. It would've felt rude to ask again. And, in all honesty, she couldn't have cared less about the answer.

"We've sent out a message on all frequencies for any Starfleet vessels in the area. We expect a reply within the hour."

"Thank you," Tasha said, her voice dispassionate and distant.

He lingered by the doorway. "We… are not accustomed to guests. We do not carry provisions beyond that of what our crew will need during our runs."

 _Ah,_ thought Yar, _so that's what he's after. Compensation._

"I'm certain my government will reward you handsomely for the safe return of a stranded officer."

That seemed to appease him. He gave a curt nod followed by a swift bow, before exiting the room. As what seemed like an afterthought, he looked back in and said, "You were a security officer aboard your last vessel, correct?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Our weapon guidance systems have never functioned properly. We are a simple cargo vessel. But, occasionally we must defend ourselves from looting pirates. Perhaps, if you are feeling up to it…"

"You'd like me to have a look at your weapons systems."

"Only if it would not be too much trouble."

After a moment's pause to consider her options she stood and said, "No, it's no trouble. It will give me something to do."

They were a short race, Tasha thought as she followed the captain along the hallway. Not a particularly large woman herself, Lieutenant Yar still had to hunch slightly and duck her head as they traveled through the small corridors. The vessel had no turbolifts. Instead, an intricate system of ladders ran throughout the ship.

"It is not ornate," said the captain at one point as he led the way down several decks, "Not like a Starfleet vessel. But we are good to her and she has been good to us." He came to a halt in front of a narrow passageway. "Through here is our main weapons array. The targeting and guidance systems are in the far corner. The room only fits one." He punched a code into the locking mechanism and the doors slid open. Tasha leaned in to have a look at the space. It looked more like a janitor's closet than a center of weapon operations.

"Here," he handed her a small device, about the size and shape of a toothbrush. "You press here and speak into the front of the unit."

"A communicator," Tasha said, taking it.

The captain nodded, "Yes, that is right. When you are finished, you call and I will come get you. Or when we receive word from your Federation." He nodded, gave her another short bow, and then turned and left her alone in the small corridor.

While many may have found the man's curt, abrasive nature rude and off-putting, Tasha actually found herself thankful for it. She didn't have to keep up any pleasantries. This crew left her to her own devices, which, surprisingly, even after an indeterminate time alone, she found herself preferring.

She wedged herself into the small space and set to work. This was something she could do _._ Give her a task. Let her feel useful. Take her mind off her memories.

Looking around, Yar determined that it was indeed an old and abused system, long overdo for an overhaul, but not beyond salvaging. And while it would never have the speed and maneuverability as the Enterprise's defense systems, she could get them firing up enough to deter a few cowardly pirates. It was almost second nature to the security officer. As she worked, she easily found her mind wandering, recalling the events which had led her here.

* * *

She'd come to with a terrible headache and the glaring sun in her eye on Vagra Two, a rose-tinted, wasteland of a planet. She was sprawled out on the rocky ground, unable to orient herself. In every direction, the terrain looked relatively the same. Vaguely, Tasha remembered that Counselor Troi and Lieutenant Prieto had suffered a systems failure and crash landed on the barren world's surface. But beyond that, nothing much else could she recall.

Sitting up, she was overcome with a painful dizziness, and turned to dry heave several times. An ugly, black bile expelled itself from her insides, and she retched until her throat was raw. Finally, when the sickness passed, Tasha looked around her and saw she was alone. Out of habit, she reached to her chest and pressed against her uniform where her communicator badge normally sat, only to discover it was absent. She checked the ground around her, to see if it had fallen off when she'd been sick, but it was nowhere to be found.

When she tried to stand she was again overcome with nausea and fell sick again. Her limbs were weak and shaking. _How long had she been unconscious?_

"—Deanna?!" Tasha called out, beginning to look around her. "...Data! Dr. Crusher! Commander Riker! ... _Anybody?!"_

Her cries were met with indifferent silence. Not even an echo.

Yar stood for a moment as she tried to decide on her next best course of action. She couldn't remember much. They'd transported down to the planet's surface when communication with the shuttle had been lost. She remembered talking with Data and Dr. Crusher, confiring about something. Something unusual that had prevented them from getting to their people in the shuttle. What had it been? There was a fuzzy hole in her mind where the memories should be. Like trying to recall an answer during a test and being able to remember reviewing the material in your notes, but not the actual information itself.

When attempting to recall the events proved fruitless, Tasha reached for her tricorder, which she'd thought she'd beamed down with. It, along with her phaser and comm badge, were also absent. She tried again to orient herself. The ridges up ahead seemed familiar. Their original beam down point was perhaps a few kilometers over. With no other rational alternative, she began walking in that direction.

The sight she came across was devastating. Remnants of a destroyed standard Starfleet shuttlecraft. And though she couldn't find the hull plate with the insignia engraved, she recognized it just the same: Shuttlecraft 13, the one Troi and Prieto had been on. _But… how?_ She found herself wondering, dumbfounded, reaching down to pick up a scrap of the hull and raising it to examine the singed edges. By the damage, it looked as if a torpedo had struck it and blown the entire vessel to pieces. That didn't make any sense, though. There had been no signs of civilization on the planet when the Enterprise had arrived, nor any other ships on long range sensors. The only logical explanation she could find was that the Enterprise had, for some reason, destroyed her own shuttle. But for what _purpose?_

What was she missing? What had happened? Tasha again tried to recall the missing fragments of her memory, but she found her thoughts sluggish and circular. She must've been dehydrated. How long had she been baking out in the hot sun without food or water? She decided to try to put the naging questions out of her head for a time and scavenge for supplies. Starfleet emergency kits were durable, built like their 21st Century predecessors the "black boxes" of old style aeroplanes. There was a chance a few such emergency kits had survived the shuttle's destruction, with a stock of field rations and water packs. Maybe even a subspace beacon she could jury-rig with some of the remaining parts of the shuttle. One things was for certain: she wasn't getting off the planet's surface on her own. The shuttle was beyond saving in that respect. She'd have to get a message out. And she'd have to find out what had happened to the Enterprise.

* * *

"Well, it's going to take some getting used to," Tasha said when the freighter captain had come to check in on her, offering her some water and what little food they could spare her. "Your primary guidance unit was shot. You had a plasma leak. Ate right through one of the gyroscopes in your targeting system. I had to rewire the whole thing to only work on one." Lieutenant Yar had a habit of turning even the smallest of updates into a full scale security lecture. During her Academy days, her fellow classmates were known to go to her even before the professors if they had a question. She knew her stuff that well, even then.

"I see," said the captain. He leaned in to see where she was pointing, but it was clear from the distant look in his eyes that he had very little understanding of what Tasha was telling him. "But it is now functioning?"

"It will, yes, but," Tasha explained, "to link the two systems I had to invert the wheel. So whoever's at Tactical will have to aim left to shoot right, and right to shoot left. They shouldn't have a problem with coordinates so long as they program the inverse of whatever's directed."

At her reassurance, and for the first time Tasha had seen, the stout man actually cracked a smile. Almost imperceivable. He looked up to her, "We are in your debt." He bowed, this time far deeper than he had previously. "And I came here to tell you, we've made contact with a Starfleet vessel. The closest to our current heading. 'The _Okinawa_.' They will be rendezvousing with us in seventeen hours to take you aboard."

Tasha sighed with relief.

"You know it?" he asked her.

"Not exactly. But I've heard good things about its crew. Thank you, Captain." This time, Tasha took the step back and bowed her head low. When she straightened up, the Captain seemed pleased. His lips formed a tight smile and he gave her another of his curt nods. "Thank you, Lieutenant Tasha Yar."

* * *

"We've already contacted the Enterprise," said the executive officer who'd met Tasha in the transporter room once she'd been beamed aboard. "I imagine they'll be quite happy to hear from you."

Tasha smiled. "Thank you, Lieutenant-Commander…?"

"Sisko. Benjamin Sisko."

"Thank you, Lieutenant-Commander Sisko."

He smiled, "We're not on duty, Lieutenant. 'Ben' is fine."

She hesitate, then said, "Tasha."

He nodded, "Tasha. Are you hungry?"

She was about to politely decline any offer of socializing, when from behind them came a voice: "Of course she's hungry! Poor girl's been living off field rations and water substitutions."

Tasha spun around to see a man far older than his gruff and vital voice would have suggested. He looked to be maybe in his late-70s. Possibly older, still. An alien with interesting markings along either side of his face that travelled down the sides of his neck. They reminded Tasha of leopard spots.

"Benjamin! Where are your manners? Introduce me to this fine, young woman!"

Sisko turned to Yar with a toothy grin and said, "Tasha Yar, meet Curzon Dax."

"What a lovely, strong name!" said the man, taking Tasha's hand in his. His charisma was infectious and she found it impossible to not smile in reply. "Tasha Yar! The _perfect_ name for a woman such as yourself. _Tasha Yar._ I _love_ it!"

Tasha was momentarily speechless and just laughed at the man's energized ovatures. She found herself smiling more than she remembered she could.

"Now then! What do you say? Let us get you something to eat. You must be hungry."

"Actually, as I was just telling the Lieutenant-Commander-"

"Of _course_ your hungry!" he interrupted, patting each Sisko and Yar square between the shoulder blades and beginning to direct them forward, "Come! We'll take you to the observation lounge on deck six. Best spot on the ship. Good food, good company, and a beautiful view by the back. Sometimes the plasma exhaust catches fire and sprays against the shields. Simply gorgeous. Isn't that right, Benjamin?"

The lieutenant-commander opened his mouth to answer but wasn't given the chance.

"Of course it is! And a beautiful woman like yourself should have something beautiful to look at. And I'm not available _all_ night." He laughed and headed the three of them towards the closest turbolift.

"Careful," Sisko said softly, and with quite a bit of humor, in Tasha's ear as Curzon lead them down the hall, "Don't let the Old Man's age fool you. He'll eat you _alive_ if you give him a chance."

She didn't doubt it.

* * *

"You don't remember anything that happened after your away team beamed down?"

"Nothing," Tasha shook her head as she stared into her glass. It was evident from her tone just how frustrated that made her. She took a sip of the drink. "Is there something different about this synthehol? It tastes strange."

Ben shrugged, "Not that I know of." He took a mouthful of his own, "Tastes fine to me."

"The flavor… seems muted, somehow."

"Would you like me to order you a new one?"

"No. No, thank you. I probably should be taking it easy on my stomach, anyway."

He nodded, "Very prudent."

Curzon had gone off to another table, talking and laughing loudly with a group of young, intoxicated ensigns. The waiter, dressed in a typical green serving uniform, walked up to their table and set out their entrées. Tasha looked as he set her plate in front of her. She took a deep breath in, expecting to be enticed by the smell of a good, hot meal after so many days of eating field rations and scraps. But instead, the scent overwhelmed her, and she was overcome with a wave of nausea. She put her hand up to her mouth and pushed the dish away.

"Everything alright?" Sisko asked her.

"I don't know," Tasha said, "I suddenly don't feel so well."

"What is it?"

"It's just... the smell of the food."

"First the synthale, now the food. Maybe we should get you to sickbay."

She groaned at the idea, and the lieutenant-commander chuckled at the relatability of the response.

"I think I'd just like to go to my quarters. I'll feel better after I get some rest."

"I guess you didn't sleep too well stuck on that planet."

"Or the freighter ship. The bed was about half a meter too short."

He chuckled again. "Alright. Let me show you to the guest arrangements."

"Thank you." She said. She seemed to be thanking people an awful lot, lately. She looked back down to the food on her plate. And although her stomach grumbled, it no longer looked appetizing to her. "I feel bad leaving it."

"I don't think the replicator will be offended."

When they got up to leave, Sisko made eye contact with Curzon and waved his goodbye. Tasha couldn't be certain, but she thought she saw the old man wink back at them.

As they made their way through the halls, Tasha's pace was notably slower.

"Are you sure you don't want to go to sickbay?" Sisko asked.

"I'm sure."

He showed her to the quarters she'd been assigned and released the door codes to her. "If you need anything else…" he handed her a comm badge.

Tasha looked at it, briefly confused, before reaching for the spot on her chest where hers normally sat. She had forgotten it was absent. "... Thanks," she said, taking it.

"We'll be dropping you off at Starbase 16 first thing tomorrow."

"I thought I was being transferred to the Enterprise."

"I think they need to… debrief you, first."

"Just for being left behind on an away mission?"

He fell silent.

"Lieutenant Commander…" she said, "—Ben, what are you not telling me?"

He sighed and weighed his answer for a moment before answering, "There are some… _things_ that need to be cleared up first. Details."

"About what?"

"Your away mission… The Enterprise filed a report with Starfleet after leaving Vagra Two… You were declared dead."

"What? Well they were wrong! Obviously."

"Lieutenant- Tasha… they had a body."

"… _What?!_ "

* * *

Tasha never liked doctors. A bitter fact made more apparent in that security officers were the ones most likely to end up in ships' infirmories to begin with. She'd become accustomed to the slight sting of a hypospray, or the way regenerated bones ached for a day or two. Just the same, nothing in her previous experiences prepared her for the sheer aggravation that was undergoing a Starfleet identity verification exam. She began to wonder how many different ways a DNA sample could be extracted, all the while having her own questions and concerned dodged by the starbase's medical team. Half of them seemed nervous around her. The other half didn't seem to trust her at all, treating her the way she might have expected a Romulan prisoner to be treated.

Finally, an admiral arrived. An older man with a round face whose hair was going grey along his temples in nonuniform patches. "Admiral Roddenberry" he introduced himself and offered Tasha a firm handshake, "How do you feel, Lieutenant?"

She didn't recognize the name, but it made her no less aggressive in stating her annoyances, "May I speak freely sir?"

"Of course."

"I feel like I'm being treated more like a prisoner of war than a rescued officer."

The admiral sighed and looked around them. It was clear from the way the medical staff pretended to busy themselves that none of them had a future in Starfleet Intelligence. It was painfully clear that nearly every one of them was eavesdropping.

"Let's go for a walk, Lieutenant."

Outside of the sickbay, Starbase 16 was alive with activity. No one took much notice to a passing admiral and security officer. Occasionally, someone would nod and say hello to Roddenberry, and he'd give a respectful but short response.

"So," he told her after they'd been walking for a few minutes in silence, "We have a bit of a mystery on our hands, Lieutenant."

"So I've heard, sir," Tasha answered.

"I don't suppose you could shed some light on the situation?"

"I wish I could," she told him, honestly, "But I can't remember anything after beaming down with the Enterprise away team. Until the lieutenant-commander aboard the Okinawa told me, I didn't even know I'd been declared dead, sir."

The admiral nodded as he walked along, eyes on the ground as he worked through what she told him. "I see…" he answered, vaguely. "And no one has showed you the report from the Enterprise?"

"No, sir."

He nodded again. He stopped walking in front of a large window that looked out past the starfields that surrounded them. He stood for a long moment, looking out as if one of those stars held answers. When he was met with the same cold, indifference Tasha had herself come to know, he took up the PADD which had been previously tucked under his arm and handed it to her.

"Take a look," he told her, "When you're finished, return to sickbay. Hopefully, the doctors will have come up with some answers."

He walked off, and Tasha sat and read the file, signed by Captain Jean-Luc Picard, detailing how she had died.

Slowly, the memories returned to her.

* * *

"There's something unusual about her DNA patterns," explained Starbase 16's chief medical officer.

"Unusual how?" asked the admiral.

"It's… _changing."_

"You mean to suggest this isn't Tasha Yar?"

"No, sir, that's the strange part. It most definitely _is_ Lieutenant Tasha Yar. Every test we have run confirms that. But there are aspects of her biology that seem to be in a state of flux. Take these brain scans we took when she first arrived."

"What about them?"

"Well, when we first analyzed them, I would have told you that the lieutenant had Betazoid heritage."

" _Betazoid_? According to Lieutenant Yar's file, she comes from Turkana IV, the failed Earth colony. There were only human settlers back in those days."

"Yes sir, and when I re-performed the analysis, the scans came back human. But the _first time_ I'd taken them, she showed signs of telepathic lineage. It's as though her genes are being… resequenced, somehow. Even as we speak."

"Explain."

"Well, all humans have some level of 'junk DNA,' These random bits of biological coding that seem to serve no real purpose. Historically, they were believed to be sort of _evolutionary leftovers._ Unnecessary bits of information that were never completely wiped from our biochemistry. Why, some humans in the early 21st Century following the Human Genome Project even thought this to be signs of extraterrestrial tampering with human evolution."

"All very interesting, Doctor, but why are you telling me this?"

"Because, Admiral, Tasha Yar seems to have nearly _twice_ as much junk DNA as the average human."

"Twice?"

"And that's not all, sir. When she first arrived, it was nearly _three times_ the average amount."

"You're telling me her DNA is changing?"

"Yes, sir."

"Doctor, surely you don't need _me_ to tell you that's impossible. Human DNA does not change."

"No, sir," answered the doctor, nodding, "it should not."

The admiral and doctor each shared a long look before turning to the small computer display they had open on the doctor's desk in sick bay. "Captain," said the admiral, "are you hearing all of this?"

"I am," answered a solemn-looking Captain Picard over subspace message, "And I believe, thanks to our Commander Data, we may have an answer for this rather _unusual_ mystery…"

"Is that right?"

"We're still putting together the pieces. We'll be docking within the hour. I'll have my full report for you then."

"Captain," asked the doctor, "Do you believe she is to be trusted?"

At that, Captain Picard smiled, "Doctor, Admiral —I would trust Tasha Yar with my _life_. And have on many occasion. Enterprise out."

* * *

"Armus?" Tasha said, "The name of the thing that killed me?"

Captain Picard nodded, solemnly, as they sat in the otherwise unoccupied conference lounge. "Commander Data, with help from Counselor Troi, was able to develop a working theory."

Tasha looked down at her hands, flexing her fingers and examining them. She felt her skin crawl as her brain began working its way around the information Captain Picard was revealing to her.

"The creature," Picard explained, "with all of this power, all of this _rage,_ when we left it…" he shook his head, "It must've been overwhelming. And faced with the prospect of eternal loneliness-"

"It killed itself," Tasha whispered.

Picard nodded, "Or it very well tried to."

He got up from his seat and walked the length of the table. He stopped on the far corner of the room and stared out the window. Tasha watched him. In that moment, seeing the man she regarded so highly, accented by the twinkling stars behind him, for just a brief instant, she _almost_ found peace in those stars. Almost.

"It referred to itself as a 'skin of evil,'" Picard went on, "Something that had been brought to the surface and then discarded by ancient, telepathic lifeforms." Picard shook his head, "Their abilities - whatever they _did_ to rid themselves of the negative energies that created Armus - are likely beyond our scope of understanding."

"And that explains how he had such power."

The Captain nodded. "And how it was able to communicate with Counselor Troi while she was trapped inside the shuttle. She had told me that when the creature was forced to confront it's loneliness, it's abandonment, it weakened it's telepathic hold over the shuttlecraft. We… lured it out, in a sense. I spoke with it, told it we would no longer play a part in it's amusement. That it would be alone, forever. Never to escape it's imprisonment." He looked over at Tasha, and then back out to the stars. "It's cries when we were beamed back to the ship… were agonizing. In a way, I felt sorry for it. It was _childish_. Some kind of immortal _toddler._ With no true sense of its power. All it had known was pain, abandonment, resentment."

Tasha said nothing in response. She had a hard time feeling sorry for something that had slain her without cause, that had held her friends and crewmates hostage, had put them through hell just to be entertained. No matter the reasons, Tasha felt she agreed with Armus: It _was_ evil.

Captain Picard slowly made his way back to where he and Tasha had been seated. He sat down and rested his hands on the table, looking at them, rather than at her.

"You're telling me that this _thing_ is… somehow _me._ "

"' _Was,'_ more accurately," the Captain explained, "Yourself and Commander Riker were the only two it had come into direct physical contact with. And the way Doctor Crusher explained your death- Armus had, somehow, _sapped_ the life right out of you."

"And you think it just _chose_ to give it back? _Why?"_

Picard shrugged, "I suppose we'll never have an answer for certain. Counselor Troi has told me that sometimes telepathic beings do not always have full control over the effect of their powers."

Tasha stood up sharply in her chair. She paced the dimly lit room, outraged by what she was hearing, "You're telling me I have that _thing_ to thank for giving me my life back? I can't accept that, Captain! It just doesn't make any sense! Why would it sacrifice itself for me, after showing you and Troi and the rest of the crew nothing but sadism?"

Captain Picard leaned back in his chair. For a moment, he looked like he didn't have an answer for her. Then, slowly, he spoke, "Tasha, I want you to consider something… before Armus had encountered our crew, he'd never experienced other beings before. The way he described it to me, his consciousness formed long after those who created him had abandoned him. It _may_ be possible that it's time with our crew… _changed_ him, somehow. For so long, it had done nothing but fantasize about getting revenge on those who had wronged him. Of tormenting and killing anyone and anything that he may come in contact with. And then, once he had, he found it-" the captain shrugged, " _Unfulfilling._ His experience feeling your death and the suffering of your comrades, and knowing that he had caused it— now, perhaps not right away, but, over time, maybe Armus began to… _repent_. To feel _sorry_ about what it had done. To _realize_ it would never be anything more than this suffering _skin of evil._ And maybe… he wanted more than that. Maybe he wanted… to _apologize_ for what he'd done."

"And you think this was his way of doing that? Leaving me _stranded_ on his planet like those people had left him? How do you know this wasn't just some last, sadistic act from something that couldn't understand anything else?"

"I don't," Picard answered, "All I know is that the only thing it wanted was to escape that planet. To get away from it's pain and solitude. To get… a _second chance at life._ "

Tasha looked over at her captain, silently. This would make for the second time in her adult life that someone had ever seen her cry. And each of those times, it had been Captain Picard.

"'A second chance at life,'" she repeated, softly.

Her captain nodded to her. "And that's _exactly_ what he gave you."


End file.
